Posts Tagged personal growth

Your life’s phrase

Posted by matthew on December 30, 2009  |  No Comments

I think everyone’s life can be summed up by a few sentences.

This may seem limiting. A label. Not to me. It’s like saying that every life is a poem. The words aren’t always a prison, but instead are a beacon, a lighthouse, a cry that lets others know what the rallying call is. When Karen channels Michael Teachings charts, this can sometimes be called the “life task”, but not always. It’s like an archetype that brings in the numinous. It’s both a lesson and an energy source to the deepest soul. It’s like the recognizable “hook” in a song or a symphony. Beethoven’s Fifth has thousands upon thousands of notes and progressions, but we all know it by just four notes. Those four notes conjure up an entire world of emotions and ideas when we hear them, even out of context. To me, a life’s phrase can be like that.

One of my inner rallying calls is, “Power is achieved by surrender.”

At first this sounds trite. It’s a common spiritual aphorism. It’s simple and may even be simplistic. But that’s also what archetypes are — through the simple we can access the numinous. It is easy to take words as limiting rather than accessing the preternormal. I first heard this concept — that power is achieved by the deepest surrender — before I was ten years old. I heard it without thinking about it at all. I saw more of the energy behind it when I watched the movie Gandhi in my teens. Something ineffable touched me in the moment when I saw how powerful that man was. He invited others to show the violence in themselves upon his own body, surrendering to their physical power but in the process bringing forth something exponentially more.

Gandhi had shown me a different side of Power, but at this time it was limited to an intellectual concept. It lacked any sense of the sacred, that access to thaumaturgic change that touching something transcendent can bring. This took time to access for me, through my childhood into my adult life.

In my childhood I was surrounded by family members who seemed overly powerful — at least to a child. My mother was a very aggressive person who didn’t respect boundaries at all, and even took them to mean a personal attack. “I’m your mother!” she would yell, as if that meant she had rights over every aspect of me. Every aspect of me: my body, my space, my mind, and my emotions. I was her life.

Acting powerful in an outward sense did not help. Screams or a stubborn “NO!” made it worse, even to the point of threats of being kicked out to the streets at a young age. So I became a bit of a martyr; I gave in before conflict could arise. I split myself; a part of me would be the mother-pleaser, The Explainer, who would present me to the outside world in a logical, sensible fashion with no rough edges. The appeaser. The rest of me could be screaming, hurt, or could be feeling any other emotion including joyful ones. I was still there, but unconscious. I was filled with a kaleidoscope of exploding emotions, but through The Explainer’s voice those emotions came out as reasonable and confident, and explained things so they wouldn’t trigger much in the people around me. There were times when the glass walls around The Explainer wouldn’t hold, but largely they did. I survived.

This was the beginning of my focus on Power. This was an intensely disempowering state. I walled away much of myself — and thus my power — in order to be safe.

After I left home, the sense of imbalance related to Power was palpable almost all the time, like a steady drop of acid within my stomach. I accumulated skills through universities and I learned more about social interactions and transactions of status. I studied the times when I felt powerful and when others felt more powerful than I. I wasn’t interested in being upwardly mobile or accumulating money — I simply wanted to experience what it felt like to feel powerful, irrespective of what others did and irrespective of what importance they accorded me. This was what made me notice the difference in a few spiritual teachers, such as Krishnamurthi and Ramana Maharishi, whose ashram I stayed in for a while in India.

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

- Walt Whitman

One of the barriers I felt was simply in how little I connected to myself. I explored my splits, the cuts I made in myself. These were the subpersonalities in me, or even sometimes what Jung would call a complex. These are far, far more common than we think. Who is truly whole within themselves, in all their selves? For me, The Explainer excelled in mathematics and computing, the dry emotionless presence that could be as close to a computer as a humans can be. I grew up in an autistic household — it seemed natural to me. Other parts of me also wanted to feel powerful, so my inner protector emerged that could ward off others by planting bombs that scared them away.

But other parts of me also wanted to come out and play. I studied acting to give expression to many other emotions and the selves connected to them. I studied monologues that helped bring these aspects out. The abandoned child raging for a connection. The schizophrenic looking for something solid to hold onto. A man stepping off his heavy-trodden life and starting anew, boarding the nearest ship that would hire him.

742655_surrenderMy teachers never taught it as such, but I would say now that great acting is all about surrender. It takes great surrender in order to let a very real but different self to come through. This was why I was never a great actor then — only a good one. I wanted to drill holes in my psyche to access myself, tight steel lustrous pipelines that would erupt emotion on command, like a geyser. Others were supposed to feel that it was real, and feel awe. But something made of steel is always built around control. To surrender would have been to turn the world upside town, to bring the underworld into unbounded air, not to send emotions through a rigid pipeline. Surrender would have meant not treating the director as God, but treating being real as God. Truth is God, whatever it may be in that moment.

You can see the idea of surrender appear here in my life. Surrender is connected to acting for me because this is where I was first taught it on an experiential level. My best example was through a clowning teacher. I saw many spiritual teachers, read many books, and got involved with many groups such as Gurdjieff and the Michael Teachings
, but surrender goes beyond any teaching. It’s like diving off an airplane.

My idea of surrender has changed through time. It ranged from the physical, to the emotional, to the conceptual. That is, it held the ideals of ultimate relaxation, peace, and seeing all sides and beauty in everything. But these were ideals, and so The Explainer clung to them and protected the inner selves in the only way it knew how. Words can be a defense when they protect you. They don’t have to be at all, as I’m learning.

Now I’m going to another level of surrender: the surrender to myself. To allow the different selves in me, that label of subpersonality, to dissolve those glass walls and roam free. And it is scary, like all freedom is. Going to London Drugs in the post-Christmas rush, did I really know if I would bring someone out from inside me who panics under that Group-Think rush to buy? I looked down and noticed my arms protecting the shell of my chest, but I didn’t feel like screaming
.

I am eternally grateful to Karen who has supported this integration, even in is nascent state. This is what a supporting relationship is: not support in being ‘healthy’, which is an image, but in absolute support to be myself. To be all that I am as the prime imperative, irrespective of how it feels or looks. That’s the beauty that she is and what she offers.

Part of me resists: “I am a teacher. I can channel great wisdom. I can help others. I can see others clearly. The labels I put on what is underneath imply that I am screwed up for the rest of my life, and I refuse to be that.” We think teachers should conform to a definite image.

So now, if I feel like a drowning man within my ocean of emotions, I let myself feel it and cry desperately to be saved even if another part of me knows it is already perfect as it is. It is All That Is. It’s about the experience, not desperately clinging to the part of me that truly does know. I already am the teaching I seek — but there’s more wisdom in letting go to the unknowingness.

This is how my life has shaped around that phrase, “Power is achieved by surrender.” Saying that to myself has as much power as the mantra “I AM”. Or for the gnostic Christians, “I AM THAT I AM“.

What are some of your life phrases?

Breaking through the chains of identity

Posted by matthew on November 23, 2007  |  7 Comments

I had a question recently asked of me, which is what this article is based on:

How do you form new identities when there are expectations other people place, in terms of maintaining an identity? How do you find ways of letting go to holding on to that and allowing more of yourself to come through?

To answer this, let’s first look at what identity is. The etymology of the word comes from the Latin words for “sameness” and “over and over”. This in itself gives a good picture of it - a fixated pattern or image that can be repeated over and over. It can be looked at as a temporary protection against the unknown. Where there is the dark unknown and the feeling of helplessness come from it, then terror appears, and so there is a desire to control that comes from this. Identity is the standard result.

Because of the nature of interconnection mentioned in previous articles, identities are not isolated towers etched in stone. Your identity depends on the interactions you have with others, particularly intimate relationships. The degree of “sameness” and repetition of behavior in relationships creates safety and protection more firmly than any amount of home security. Conversely, when someone’s behavior and identity fluctuates without agreement from everyone involved, a sense of betrayal and threat is often the results. When you question your identity, ripples flow outward that invite everyone surrounding you to also question their own identity. For some, this is incredibly fearful. To real degree, this can feel if one’s life is about to end – because in some ways, it is.

Identity, therefore, is central to the perception of isolation and separateness that human beings are subject to. If you hardwire your perception of Self to be a fixed collection of thoughts, emotions, and behaviors, then you will automatically disconnect from all beings that are not this collection. You may see this in such actions as politics; the identity is so strong, so dependent on connections with others of like mind that the disconnect then it is quite likely that those on the “other side” are disconnected from to such a degree that their humanness is no longer seen. When taken to its natural extreme, this can cause violence and wars.

The problems do not come from any idea of what you are, but always from what you are not. If you deny connections, whether to others or within yourself, you are in fact wielding a scalpel, surgically cutting yourself off from the universe. This is violence. This is an attack, both at the world and at the Self. There is no outward form of violence that does not directly come from this core split.

To work with this, we suggest an exercise adapted from Thich Naht Hahn :

When you meet something, instead of a label which implies separation such as “tree”, “house”, or “road”, state instead that you are what you see. “I am this” is a good phrase, or a statement of “I am a tree” when you meet one. Rather than this be something enforced on your mind, expand outward to breath in the essence of what you are seeing.

Another way to do this is via the practice of mindful eating. Your absolute interconnection is not simply with what you see, but everything that is connected to what you see as well. An example would be the eating of brown rice. (preferably organic!). As you are eating, feeling the soft fibers in your tongue, invite the perception that you are the rice, and that you are enjoying changing form to help preserve life. You are the plants in the field that produced this output. You are the workers that cultivated the food. You are the sunlight that gave life to this plant. You are the water that irrigated the field. You are the rain and sky that brought the rivers. You are the people that package and brought the rice to you. You are even the animals that ate from the field before it was cultivated. You are all that.

Imagine then, that with every bite you are taking, you are affirming your connection to the earth, the plants on it, the sun, the animals, and every human being interconnected on it. This connection is in every bite of food, and indeed in every breath you take. Living with this connection at a conscious level is an ever present source of joy.

In this exercise, the “who you are” is absolutely inclusive, and thus without violence. There is nothing you are not, and thus nothing you have to use force to separate yourself from. This is where true power comes from. If you have difficulty feeling this connection in this exercise, then we suggest trying it again in a natural setting, where animals can be viewed. Animals naturally feel this interconnection as part of their way of being, and can be great teachers in this. Children can be as well.

“Letting go of identity” is therefore not a true letting go. There is in fact no need to let go of who you are – only to let go of the perception of what you are not. You may in fact be a professional, reliable person who doesn’t want to impose on others, but you may also be a human being who has pain inside and deserves the chance to make mistakes, get angry, and be wrong.

 

If you decide to undergo on the path of expanding your identity, take caution, for the ripples this path creates can create much reaction in others. In fact, we advocate asking those close to you for permission first, even if in your own mind or in a dream state. Leaving behind past shelters of identity is usually a terrifying undertaking, and it is good to prepare and gain support beforehand. But it is good to remember that it is always in the unknown that true experience of Love resides, and this is why terror is often experienced before Love is. And it is in the expansion of Self – not the destruction of it – that Love is experienced. Your awareness of identity can expand to where your identity is your family, the community, the earth, and the universe. This is in fact what is true at this very moment, and we invite you to rejoin with your birthright.